


When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: You and I could end the world in fire or blood [5]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: In that the timeline is changed, M/M, Masamune headcanons, Military historians, Sephiroth is bad at parties, Wingfic, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 08:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18177989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: (Slight AU - timeline changes)While Zack and Angeal are posing in their full dress uniforms at the signing of the peace treaty with Wutai, Genesis and Sephiroth are sent to Costa del Sol to keep them out of the way. It's no great loss. They'll still be invited to the afterparty.~In which Genesis hustles pool, a clueless Sephiroth is hit on by multiple people, and Shinra throws the party of the century~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is slightly AU in that I've set the end of the Wutai War before Genesis deserts SOLDIER.

Genesis was sitting in the bar at Costa del Sol, watching the TV mounted in the wall as it showed President Shinra signing a peace treaty with Wutai. He narrowed his eyes as the camera panned over Angeal and Zack, in their full formal uniforms, standing at attention. Genesis and Sephiroth had been the ones to win that war, with fire and blood, respectively. And then they’d been sent to Costa del Sol on “mandatory leave” for a few days. Now it was abundantly clear why. For whatever reason, Shinra did not want them present for the event.

He briefly considered setting the bar on fire as an example but settled for scowling down at his glass of mediocre red wine and paging listlessly through Loveless, in too much of a pique to even look for companionship.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like General Sephiroth?” A man’s voice, bright and coy, caught Genesis’s attention. He looked up to see Sephiroth standing by the pool table with a cue in his hand, studying the triangle of cue balls arranged on the green. Genesis glared at him, annoyed by how ordinary he looked, in a T shirt and jeans, his long hair pulled back in a tame ponytail. Sephiroth was _his_ monster, and Genesis hated it when his lover tried to hide who he really was.

“No.” Sephiroth glanced at his companion with only the slightest hint of an expression. “I’ve never been told that before.”

“Well, it’s true,” the man said, handing him the white cue ball. “You’ve even got the hair.”

“I think I understand the rules here,” Sephiroth said, idly twirling the pool cue in his fingers. “Who goes first?”

Sephiroth lost the coin toss and spent a good five or ten minutes studying the constellation of cue balls after his companion broke the initial formation. When he finally did shoot, the ball ricocheted around the table with perfect precision, felling four cue balls before rolling to a stop. He gave it a slight, satisfied smile. “I like this game.”

Genesis rolled his eyes. Sephiroth just had to be the best at every little thing, and make it look effortless in the process.

Genesis used to hustle pool back in Banora—not for money, of course, as he’d had plenty of that. Mostly just for the fun of it, and the opportunity to beat up the guys who took it too personal and threw the first punch in the alley outside. Angeal had spent those evenings aggressively disapproving from his place behind the bar—as he actually needed the money—and backing Genesis up if fights turned ugly.

“You’re really good at this,” Sephiroth’s companion said. He leaned a little closer and spoke softly—if not for his enhanced hearing, Genesis would have missed his words. “It’s always been a fantasy of mine, you know. The General.”

“Hmm. I have heard that one before.” Sephiroth, as always, was impossible to read, and despite the blatant come-hither, seemed more intrigued by the pool table.

“There’s my wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Genesis said sharply, joining them without invitation. He pressed Sephiroth back against the pool table and tugged hard on his ponytail. “What are you doing?”

“I’m learning a new game,” Sephiroth said, with infuriating calm. Genesis couldn’t tell if Sephiroth knew exactly what he was doing or if he was really that oblivious. “It involves a lot of math.”

Genesis grabbed the pool cue from the man who was staring at them with his mouth slightly open, ignoring his protests. “Let’s make it interesting, then.”

The corner of Sephiroth’s mouth quirked up just slightly. “I thought you were tired of losing to me.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

“If I win…” Genesis took a moment to think. “We spar. And I get to use your sword.”

For a second, Sephiroth went completely still, eyes narrowing slightly. “You want to wield the Masamune?”

“What?” Genesis asked, with his best mocking grin. “Afraid you’re going to lose and I’m going to put my hands on the virgin hilt of your pretty sword?”

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed, and he shook his head. “If I win, I get your copy of Loveless.”

Genesis gasped, pressing his hand to his chest where he carried the book in the pocket of his jacket. He had been carrying that book around since he was twelve, the gift of a grandfather who was long gone.

“Or are you afraid?” Sephiroth asked, and that was that. They shook hands and began to play.

Sephiroth was good, especially for someone who had never played before, but Genesis also had wildly enhanced spatial awareness _and_ possessed knowledge of the game. Most importantly, he understood the psychological aspect of luring your opponent into overconfidence, then exploiting their mistakes. It was a performance, of sorts, and he gave it his all. In the end, it worked, and he won by the slightest of margins.

The rest of the bar, which had fallen more and more silent as the game went on, erupted into cheers and good-natured booing and the exchanging of money, as several bets had been made. Sephiroth gave Genesis a look that was nothing short of furious and stalked out.

Genesis took a few moments to gloat, charm a few of his new fans, and collect some winnings of his own for a bet he’d made discreetly while Sephiroth was taking absurdly long to figure out his turn.

He walked down to the beach, where he found Sephiroth looking out over the water, the Masamune in his hand. Watching it gleam in the moonlight, Genesis wondered if he could even wield it. It was so long that it would be very difficult to use, and he was sure he would be trounced almost immediately.

“You are a terrible loser,” Genesis said, crossing his arms.

“You’re one to talk,” Sephiroth said, but his heart clearly wasn’t in the banter. He held the sword out hilt first to Genesis with deep reluctance etched onto his face.

“What are you going to spar with?” Genesis asked. After all this, he felt oddly hesitant to take it.

Sephiroth gave him a look of mild shock. “I don’t wield any other sword.”

He almost sounded like Genesis had asked him to cheat on a lover. And he was still holding the Masamune out for Genesis to take, the hilt inky black against his pale skin. Carefully, Genesis wrapped his fingers around the hilt. It was cold to the touch, and did not warm at the contact of his skin. It was lighter than Rapier despite its length, and as he held it, Genesis was certain he could feel some kind of dark, alien thrum run the length of the blade down into his bones. It was unsettling, but also seductive. He felt like, with this weapon, he could destroy _anything._

Without thinking he let it fly through the air to come to a stop just a half inch before Sephiroth’s neck. Sephiroth merely looked annoyed, reaching up and pressing his bare fingers to the sharp side of the blade, pushing it away like you would the hand of a small child.

“It won’t cut me unless I let it,” he said dismissively, like this was a basic fact Genesis should have already known.

The Masamune was still cold to the touch, and Genesis’s hand was beginning to ache from it, and from the strange, barely perceptible vibration of its being. He’d been with Sephiroth in battles that lasted hours on end—he could only imagine how difficult it would be to hold the hilt for that long. But maybe it felt different in Sephiroth’s hand.

He held it back out to Sephiroth, who took it eagerly, like a child briefly parted from a favorite toy.

“You won the Wutai War with this,” Genesis said, “and they don’t even let us come to the treaty signing.”

Sephiroth shrugged one shoulder carelessly. “The delegation from Wutai didn’t want us there. Their leader said she wouldn’t sign the treaty unless Shinra kept its “honorless SOLDIER dogs” on a leash.”

Genesis scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Look where honor has gotten their country.”

“Precisely.” Sephiroth smiled slightly, letting the Masamune dematerialize into thin air. “It’s not important. The signing is just a lot of standing around anyway. You would have been bored out of your mind.”

Genesis had to admit that was probably true.

“Instead we got a week of leave,” Sephiroth said. “I’ve never been to Costa del Sol before.”

“Then we’d better make the most of it,” Genesis said. “Take off your boots and let’s walk along the beach.”

Sephiroth gave him an odd look, but did as instructed. With their mako-enhanced eyes, the moon cast more than enough light to make their way along the water’s edge. Genesis took Sephiroth’s hand in his own and twined their fingers together. Sephiroth glanced at him warily, but did not pull away.

“I learned to summon my Masamune when I was little,” Sephiroth said. “Back then, I could…manifest certain things, if I wanted them badly enough. Hojo put me in a fight with a monster I’d never seen before. I was afraid. So I created a sword.”

“That’s kind of amazing, actually,” Genesis said. “Did you manifest anything else?”

Sephiroth stopped walking and glanced around them. “It’s secluded enough here. Would you like to see?”

Genesis nodded.

Sephiroth walked down to the water’s edge, the surf lapping at his feet, and turned to face Genesis. He pulled off his shirt and closed his eyes, and a single magnificent black wing appeared behind him, extended up towards the moon.

Genesis’s breath caught in his throat. It was strange and monstrous and utterly breathtaking. “Can I touch it?” he asked softly.

Sephiroth nodded, his head bowed so that his hair obscured his face.

Genesis ran his fingers lightly over the feathers—they felt like silk beneath his skin, fine and thick. Sephiroth watched him, eyes glowing in the moonlight. “Why do you hide it?” he asked.

“It’s impractical,” Sephiroth muttered. But it had to be more than that, because being able to fly was a clear combat advantage. Sephiroth must have had some reason he was willing to forsake that.

“My love,” Genesis murmured, tugging on the belt loops on Sephiroth’s jeans and closing the distance between them, “you are fucking gorgeous. You are a monster among men, and they should _fear you._ ”

“And you?” Sephiroth asked. “Do you fear me?”

“Of course not,” Genesis said, laughing softly against Sephiroth’s lips. “I love you. Cut my throat and I’ll die with your name on my lips.”

He meant it only as a joke. Sephiroth would never harm him. He understood this like he understood the rising of the sun over the orchards of his home, like he understood the weight of a blade in his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

They may not have been invited to the treaty signing, but the PR officer for SOLDIER told Sephiroth that the party Shinra was throwing to celebrate was absolutely mandatory for himself and Genesis.

That’s how he found himself in full dress uniform, watching the Shinra elite mingle with the rich and famous of Midgar and beyond. Shinra had spared no expense for this lavish event—there was a champagne fountain, a full orchestra, and President Shinra himself was out on the floor, shaking hands and smiling, the corners of his beady eyes crinkling with glee.

Genesis was late, of course, so Sephiroth was on his own for the foreseeable future.

He leaned against a back wall with a drink in his hand, giving the partygoers his best Demon of Wutai glare in order to be left alone. Most of the time it worked. People were generally a little intimidated by him to begin with, and the black coat and the gleaming length of the Masamune behind his back did wonders to keep them away.

“General Sephiroth.” A tall, slender man with horn-rimmed glasses and an eager expression approached him. “I’m so pleased to find you here.”

“Where else would I be but dancing on the corpses of my enemies?” Sephiroth asked casually. It wasn’t untrue—in a sense, this whole event was a celebration of how many people Sephiroth had killed with Genesis by his side. He wouldn’t usually phrase it so dramatically, but in this case, he was hoping it would be enough to end any conversation anyone tried to start with him.

And the truth was, he had gotten used to being a villain. He’d spent years of his life fighting in Wutai, where he was greeted with hate and fear everywhere he went. Genesis might have dreams of being a hero, but Sephiroth was under no such illusion. He preferred the way the people in Wutai looked at him to the way he was regarded in Midgar. He would rather be a monster than a prized possession, a cherished pet.

But then, they never looked at Genesis with the same loathing. They feared him, yes, but they also knew he could be capable of great compassion if the mood struck him. He was as unpredictable and untamed as the lifestream, while Sephiroth was as constant and inevitable as death itself.

“Dancing on the corpses of your enemies?” The man looked slightly taken aback. He was older than Sephiroth by at least twenty years, but he wore it well, and could be called both handsome and distinguished.

“Yes,” Sephiroth said. “Our victory was built on the many Wutai who lost their lives.”

“I know that,” the man said. “But dancing? Forgive me if I say you don’t seem the type.”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow and fixed the man with a cold, distant glare. “And you would know?”

“I’ve written quite extensively about you.” The man held out his hand. “Ven Archime, at your service. You probably don’t know me, but—”

“Of course I know you,” Sephiroth said. He didn’t smile, but his expression softened. Ven was a renowned military historian, and one of the few people he had actually wanted to meet.“I’ve read your books. All of them, not just the ones that prominently feature my strategies.”

Ven laughed. “I’m flattered,” he said.

“It’s not flattery. I found them very enlightening.”

Ven’s smile lit up his face.

“But you have a few crucial details wrong about two or three of the battles,” Sephiroth said. “It’s not your fault. Shinra records are highly classified. I assume you were unable to get your hands on them.”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.” The light flashed on Ven’s glasses as he nodded, his head tilted slightly up towards Sephiroth. “I was in the military for ten years. I understand the necessity of secrecy.”

“Where did you serve?” Sephiroth surprised himself by asking a follow up question, and then another, until they were actually having a conversation. It was pleasant to talk with someone who was both intelligent and attractive, who clearly admired Sephiroth for his cleverness in battle, not because of Shinra’s propaganda. Ven smiled at his attempts at humor and didn’t remark on how odd they were like most did. He stood close by and actually touched Sephiroth’s arm no less than three times, which was also strange as most people besides Genesis and the irrepressible Zack maintained a cautious distance.

Usually when Genesis entered a room, Sephiroth noticed immediately, both because he was attuned to his lover’s presence and because Genesis always made a dramatic entrance. But tonight he didn’t notice until Genesis was almost at his side.

Sephiroth was in the process of writing down Ven’s contact information and promising an interview when Genesis stepped out of the crowd. There was fire in his eyes and Sephiroth wondered what idiot had managed to set him off already.

“Genesis, this is Ven Archime,” Sephiroth said, because he’d once been told it was polite to introduce people if they didn’t already know each other. “He’s a military historian.”

“Genesis Rhapsodos,” Ven said, holding out his hand. “It is truly an honor.”

Genesis shook it distractedly, the turned to Sephiroth, ignoring Ven entirely. “I need to talk to you,” he said, annoyance clear in his voice. “Privately.”

Sephiroth made a quick apology to Ven, which the historian brushed off with a good-natured smile. “Call me,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

At that, Genesis stalked off without glancing back to see if Sephiroth would follow. Though, Sephiroth supposed, he didn’t really need to check. Sephiroth would always follow him.

He led Sephiroth into a hallway and opened the door to what appeared to be a janitor’s closet.

“Gen,” Sephiroth began, “what’s going on?”

Genesis pushed him back into the closet and shut the door, his mako enhanced eyes glowing in the dark. Sephiroth pulled on the string above their heads and a soft yellow light filled the confined space.

“You certainly were chatty tonight,” Genesis said, scowling.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow at Genesis, half-curious, half-annoyed. “Did you have a problem with that historian?”

“No,” Genesis said sharply, tangling his fingers in Sephiroth’s hair and tugging him down for a kiss that felt more like fighting. Just when Sephiroth was starting to get lost in it, Genesis pulled away again, scowling. “I just think it’s inappropriate. That he keeps touching you. Obviously he wants something more than just your take on the Wutai War.”

Sephiroth wondered if that could be true. Before he could think of an adequate response, Genesis had pushed him back against the shelves, tugging hard on his hair. Sephiroth leaned his head back obediently, and Genesis kissed down his throat, his hands busy with the many buckles that kept Sephiroth in his formal uniform.

“You’re mine,” Genesis said, glaring up at Sephiroth, still clearly furious, though not at him. “If he puts his fucking hands on you one more time, I’m going to set him on fire.”

_You_ _’re mine._

It reminded Sephiroth of Hojo, who always referred to him as “my subject,” or “my experiment,” and responded in his own jealous way when other scientists like Hollander wanted to run experiments on Sephiroth or study his data.

The association made him instantly go cold, and he pushed Genesis back hard enough to make him stumble back into a pile of cleaning supplies.

“I’m not yours,” Sephiroth said icily, and stepped out of the closet. In the deserted hallway, he fixed his uniform, but he wasn’t much in the mood for a party.

He didn’t gain control of his temper until he was home again, and then he deeply regretted what he’d done. Would Genesis forgive him? Or was this the end of the time in his life made bright and passionate by Genesis’s presence? He wasn’t so naive as to think they could go back to being friends.

He was halfway through a bottle of vodka, meditatively polishing the Masamune, when the door opened and Genesis stepped in.

“Is your lover here?” Genesis asked. He was swaying slightly, clearly drunk.

Sephiroth blinked at him. “You’re here.”

“The historian,” Genesis clarified. He held up a hand, flames dancing across his palm. “Is he here?”

“I’m not going to have sex with him,” Sephiroth said slowly. “You don’t have to set anyone on fire.”

Genesis dismissed the flames with a dramatic sweep of his wrist, made only slightly less impressive by the way he was leaning to one side. He slumped onto the couch, sighing. “I wish Angeal were here.”

Sephiroth couldn’t help but be a little hurt by that. “I apologize if I’m not the most exciting of companions.”

“It’s not that.” Genesis picked up Sephiroth’s half full glass of vodka and took a sip, then shuddered. “It’s just that Angeal gives the best advice. About you.”

“I see.” Sephiroth hadn’t been aware that Genesis and Angeal discussed their relationship without him, but he supposed it made sense. Angeal was Genesis’s best friend. They wouldn’t keep things from each other. “If Angeal were here, what would you tell him?”

Genesis leaned back clumsily until his head was in Sephiroth’s lap and closed his eyes. “I would tell him that it pisses me off to see you flirt with some asshole who clearly doesn’t deserve your time. And when I tried to talk to you about it, you pushed me into a pile of cleaning supplies and ran off.” He looked up at Sephiroth with big, bright mako eyes. “Why would you do that?”

Genesis was so beautiful like this, his red hair soft beneath Sephiroth’s fingers, his full lips turned in an endearing pout. Not for the first time, Sephiroth wondered how it was that someone so vibrant had fallen into his colorless life, and what he could do to ensure that this connection would last as long as possible.

_You_ _’re mine._

For most of his life, he had considered himself property of Hojo, of the lab where he grew up, of Shinra Inc. But where old memories had taken root, new ones could still grow. There were worse things to consider of himself than belonging to Genesis, Genesis who only coveted beautiful, precious, powerful things.

 “I had to think,” he said.

Genesis arched an eyebrow and glanced sharply up at him. “And?”

Sephiroth brushed his fingertips over Genesis’s lips, and Genesis nipped at them, then licked them. After the austerity of the first twenty years of Sephiroth’s life, he would never be able to get used to having all this joy and beauty  easily within his reach.

“I’m yours,” he said, solemnly, like a promise, like a vow. “You can trust me when I say there’s no one else I want.”


End file.
